


Fondant

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17024844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis functions.





	Fondant

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“I’m telling you,” Gladiolus grunts as he jabs the button for Noctis’ floor, “he’s acting... _off_. He’s definitely going into heat.”

“And _I’m_ telling you I know my advisor; he doesn’t _have_ heats.” Gladiolus rolls his eyes like Noctis is being deliberately stupid, but Noctis isn’t a kid anymore. He’s a college graduate that knows well enough what omegas go through, just as much as he knows everyone’s different. And he knows Ignis like the back of his hand. “Not like that, anyway. You’re acting like he’s gone full animal.”

“He’s thinking with his dick, Noct. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have to drive you back from practice myself.”

“So that’s what this is about,” Noctis snorts, shifting his weight onto his other foot and leaning against the elevator’s wall. He ignores the first part of Gladiolus’ statement, because it’s ridiculous. Ignis is _always_ all suave intelligence. “You had to help out with Ignis’ ever-overcrowded, overwhelming schedule, and now you’re being pissy about it.”

“You’re wrong. I’ll bet you twenty bucks.”

The elevator dings, and the door whooshes open. Noctis agrees, “Deal.” Gladiolus follows him out, which should be proof enough that he knows nothing wrong: he’s obviously coming over to hang out. Noctis doesn’t question either of his retainers trailing him anymore. Prompto’s already supposed to be coming over, his own heat—very much the stereotypical, wild _animal_ affair—isn’t for another two weeks. So the four of them should be able to squeeze in a few rounds of King’s Knight before Ignis inevitably shoos them all off to bed. 

Reaching his door, he fishes his key out of his pocket, opens it up, and steps into a cloud of omega pheromones thick enough to drown in.

Gladiolus shuffles in beside him, shutting the door and frowning. It’s not _quite_ Ignis’ smell, which Noctis knows off by heart, though he’s never been around Ignis in the intensity of a full heat. He still doesn’t think Ignis even gets those. Not like Prompto. Who’s definitely in the apartment somewhere. And smells like ripe _lust_. 

Noctis dizzily moves forward, tugged by that tantalizing aroma, without even taking off his shoes. A small, distant part of his mind knows that this is _weird_ —Prompto doesn’t usually come over when he’s like this—not when they both know Gladiolus or Ignis could pop in at any moment, and in this arena, the sexual, romantic one, Prompto is _Noctis’_ alone. Prompto usually holes up in his own empty household, then texts Noctis to whine about his desperation.

Noctis reaches the kitchen, where Ignis is steadily chopping vegetables, humming under his breath and otherwise acting perfectly normal. His scent’s impossible to pick out, although Noctis is sure it’s mixed in there somewhere, because Prompto’s is so strong. Ignis doesn’t look bothered by that. 

Ignis is also completely naked under his thin white apron, which hides his trim chest and lean thighs but nothing of his toned back and the tight cheeks of his rear. 

Noctis feels Gladiolus walk right into him and falter. They’re both stuck staring. It seems to take Ignis a moment to notice them, which is _bizarre_ , because Noctis’ inner alpha is clawing to the surface, and he’s sure he stinks. Gladiolus would stink anyway—they’re both still sweaty from training. 

Ignis tells him idly, “Supper will be ready in ten, Noct. ...But since you’ve been such a good alpha lately, I think you can have dessert first.” His gaze returns to his cutting board. The praise burns Noctis’ cheeks and rings in his ears: _such a good alpha lately._ It’s not true; he’s been as lazy and insolent as usual. Ignis casually adds, “Prompto dropped in, by the way. He wanted to borrow some suppressants, but I’m afraid the company I use has been a week late in my order.”

Noctis didn’t even know Ignis was taking suppressants. He must’ve been. And now he’s out. And his heat’s coming. And he chose to stand naked in Noctis’ kitchen instead of picking Noctis up from training.

That’s a mystery for later—Noctis walks around the kitchenette into the dining area, where he can sense his ‘dessert’ waiting. Prompto’s seated in one of the hardwood chairs pulled up to the dining table. ‘Seated’ might be the wrong term. Tied to. His arms are drawn above his head, his wrists bound to the chair’s backrest behind it. From the waist up where Noctis can see, he’s also naked, unless the ballgag and chocolate sauce count.

Noctis has no idea where the gag came from. He and Prompto keep talking about buying and experimenting with toys, but they don’t actually have any. Five minutes ago, he would’ve bet the royal fortune that Ignis wouldn’t know anything about them. But apparently dinnertime rolls around, and suddenly Ignis is stripping down, tying up, and gagging Noctis’ omega. Maybe that made it easier to keep him still whilst drizzling warm chocolate sauce over his slender chest. It’s smeared across his pecs, half-dried and half-dribbling down his abs, his pert nipples completely covered. The little nubs conspicuously protrude out, slick and shimmering in the overhead lights. Noctis always did love Prompto’s chest.

“What... the fuck,” Gladiolus’ deep voice rumbles. He’s obviously come up behind Noctis again, just hanging back. Noctis almost growls at the other alpha to back off. 

Ignis calls to them, like it’s a perfectly obvious and reasonable thing to do, “I thought His Highness might enjoy his dessert a little more if he could lick it off Prompto’s tits.”

“Did you just say _tits_?”

“If you bring over your own omega, Gladio, I’d be perfectly happy to prepare your dessert as well. Otherwise, I would appreciate it if you would leave and allow my charge to enjoy the fruits of my labour.” Then Ignis adds to Noctis, “I have also rearranged your furniture for improved efficiency and added blankets to every surface you might wish to use.”

Noctis somehow manages a weak, “Thanks.” He assumes that’s Ignis’ weird form of nesting. On a full apartment scale. He doesn’t get out any more words, because Prompto whimpers around his gag, body arching up and straining forward, and that commands all of Noctis’ attention. He can tell Prompto’s not in heat—there’s still _some_ coherency in his eyes, and his scent doesn’t have the distressed intensity of a mating cycle. He’s just... horny. Really, really horny.

Mainly because of that, because Noctis would _love_ to lick chocolate sauce off Prompto’s tits, he tells the other two: “Ignis, you have the day off. Gladio, drive him home.”

“Your Highness—” Ignis interjects, but Noctis cuts him off.

“That’s an order, Specs.”

Gladiolus adds, “You’re _obviously_ in heat.”

Ignis protests, “I feel perfectly fine—”

Noctis insists, “Go, both of you. I don’t care who’s in heat—I just want some privacy!”

That seems to satisfy Ignis, who drops his chopping knife and semi-bows. “Of course. I do hope you enjoy it. Although I can also think of a few places I’d like to add icing—”

Noctis repeats, louder, “ _Go!_ ”

Ignis nods curtly and marches out of the kitchen, headed for the entranceway, still bare save for the apron. Gladiolus doesn’t need to be told again—he scrambles after, already shedding his coat, likely about to wrap his stubborn friend up in it. 

Noctis ignores them and the insanity both, instead walking swiftly around the dining table. As tempted as he is to just duck down and start lapping away, he stops to pop the gag out of Prompto’s stretched-open lips. Prompto instantly splutters, flushed and breathing hard, then dazedly explains, “’Told him he was having a heat... he didn’t wanna listen...” 

Noctis nods sympathetically. But he also pulls up another chair next to Prompto’s, noting the sizeable bulge in the skinny jeans Prompto’s still wearing. Prompto lets out a shaky, “Noct?”

Noctis is already leaning in to flatten his tongue along Prompto’s chocolate covered skin, and Prompto’s ragged moans swallow up all other concerns. 

Noctis has to admit that even when he’s compromised, Ignis makes damn good meals.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Icing on Top](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758049) by [MLWood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MLWood/pseuds/MLWood)




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